Primal

by D. J. Molles

  She pushed back from her desk. “So, as I stated, we’re up against the ropes. As Lee would say, it’s do or die time for the United Eastern States.”

  “Okay,” Carl said. “Maybe Charleston is a lost cause. But if we can reestablish a foothold in Fort Bragg, that might bolster some confidence. Keep Florida from flying the coop.”

  Angela nodded. “I agree. Getting back into Fort Bragg would give us access to a lot of supplies we had to leave behind. As well as the crops and cattle—if the primals haven’t ripped them to shreds already.”

  “The cattle were sequestered inside the fields, correct?” Carl asked.

  “Yes. Fields Ten, Twelve, and Fifteen.” She held up a finger. “Just like all the other fields, they have high voltage wires to protect them from the primals. But we evacuated our crew from the power plant. If anything has happened to the power grid in the last month, those fields might be down. Same goes for the crop fields.”

  “The primals never showed any interest in the crops,” Carl pointed out. “Just in the workers tending them.”

  “So if the power is still on when we get back, then yes, we might have some food available. Getting food moving again, and getting Fort Bragg secured again, would alleviate a lot of the rationing and overcrowding here in Butler, and could bolster Florida’s loyalty. But we’re still weeks away from getting back to Fort Bragg, and who knows how long it will take to secure it. And how much manpower it will require.”

  “My Marines are ready, ma’am,” Brinly put in. “They’ve been on standby for too long.”

  “And there’s a reason for that,” Angela replied. “What’s the fuel situation?”

  “We have enough to sustain a decent combat operation,” Brinly answered. “Maybe a month’s worth.”

  “And then we won’t have enough to run the farming operations.”

  “No, we wouldn’t.”

  Angela picked up a pen and began fiddling with it, staring at it as she did. “My point being, gentlemen, we don’t know if we’ll get more fuel or not. We don’t even know if Lee is still alive.”

  She said it without much emotion. And she was glad of that. Though her chest felt like someone had gripped it in two enormous hands and was squeezing the life out of it.

  She dragged her eyes up to Brinly’s. “So we are now at the point where we need to decide what we are going to do with your Marines, Brinly. Originally, the plan that had been orchestrated was that Lee would continue to steal fuel from Nuevas Fronteras, and send it our way. With that, we would fuel a Marine incursion into Nuevas Fronteras territory, and hopefully stabilize operations there, and secure a more reliable source of fuel. With a reliable source of fuel, we could stand on our own. Without it, then the clock is ticking on the UES. It’s just that simple. So, do we use what we have and send the Marines to assist in the retaking of Fort Bragg? Or do we stick with the original plan and go west, in the hopes that we still have some sort of allies waiting for us on the other side?”

  She raised her hands, as though offering the dilemma up to the others.

  Carl looked around at the others. He exchanged a quick glance with Brinly, and Brinly seemed to offer the floor to Carl.

  “Re-establishing the Fort Bragg Safe Zone would be my first priority. It’s not a one or the other scenario, ma’am. We can send the Marines north to Fort Bragg. They’ll speed up the timeline for the retaking of Fort Bragg. In the meantime, you can use that as a carrot to keep Florida in line, and maybe even get Charleston back. Once things have stabilized, and we have the whole of the UES—or as much of it as possible—working with us, we can mount a stiffer assault on the cartel controlling the oil.” He shrugged, as though to say those were his two cents, and relaxed back into his chair.

  Brinly’s eyebrows cinched more and more into a frown as Carl spoke. He stirred himself. “All respect to Master Sergeant Gilliard, but Hamrick’s troops are already making good progress towards Fort Bragg. My Marines would certainly accelerate the timeline. But at what cost? By the time things are done, we may not have the fuel necessary to mount any sort of incursion. And then we’re back at square one, which is where we found ourselves at the start of this whole thing: We need fuel, and the only foreseeable source of that is currently controlled by a cartel—a cartel, that, I might remind you, looks like it’s in bed with Greeley. As long as Nuevas Fronteras maintains control of the oil, we grow weaker and our enemies grow stronger.”

  Angela ran a thumbnail over her eyebrow. “So, you’re saying we leave Fort Bragg to Hamrick’s army, and use your Marines to go west—the original plan.”

  “The original plan has merit,” Brinly stated.

  Angela found that to be something of a non-answer. She maintained eye contact until it was obvious that she wanted him to take a stance of some sort.

  He smirked, knowing what was required of him. “Yes, ma’am. I think the better option would be for me and my Marines to go west. If we can’t secure a constant source of fuel, we can at least steal what there is from the cartel. Marines are very good at stealing things. Plus, we might be able to reestablish contact with Lee, or any other allies we have over there.” He shrugged. “If not, then that’s okay. We can still rob them blind. Upset the balance of power. Grow our own capabilities, and deny resources to the enemy.”

  Carl and Brinly appeared to have a mutual respect for each other. However, Angela wasn’t sure this extended into friendship. Carl listened to Brinly, keeping his face a mask of impassivity, and when Brinly was done, he gave the Marine a slight nod, and then refocused on Angela.

  “Major Brinly raises some excellent points. However, opening up another war front when we’re currently displaced out of our capitol might be a turnoff to the other Safe Zones. You could risk alienating them further.”

  Brinly nodded. “All due respect to the master sergeant, but I believe it might be smarter to play the long game here. Those other safe zones aren’t going anywhere, even if they lose faith in you. And when you capture a means of oil production, I have a feeling their faith will be restored.”

  Carl didn’t emote much, but Angela saw a twitch of irritation in his features. Finally, he turned and spoke directly to Brinly. “Sir. The other safe zones aren’t just empty pockets of survivors. Those are potential resources. They also have crops. And they also have troops. If they switch sides, we can’t just shrug that off. That means they would become threats in our own backyard, as opposed to allies.”

  “I’m confident we can maintain them as allies if we have access to fuel,” Brinly returned.

  “I’m not sure we have that kind of time. While we’re trying to get our shit in order, Angela will be speaking with the other Safe Zones, essentially negotiating with them to stay together. We don’t want her entering into those negotiations empty-handed.”

  “A promise of a reliable source of fuel won’t be empty-handed.”

  “Half our fighting force indisposed somewhere in Texas will be a weak bargaining position. Better to have them close at hand, helping retake Fort Bragg.”

  Brinly frowned. “How much of this is about the overall strategy? And how much of this is about your vendetta against the Lincolnists?”

  Carl met Brinly’s gaze coolly. “I would think that handling saboteurs and insurgents in the middle of a war effort would be of paramount concern to everybody.”

  “Stop,” Angela said. “Thank you Major Brinly. Thank you Master Sergeant Gilliard. Your perspectives are always valuable. And they’re quite clear at this point.” She turned to the only person in the room whose opinion remained a mystery. “Ed? Would you care to weigh in?”

  Ed managed to look put on the spot again. Like he’d hoped to be a fly on the wall the whole time. He took a deep breath. Nodded to the two military men to his left. “All good points,” he said with some obvious discomfort. “I’m sure these two gents know a helluva lot more about war fighting than an old has-been law dog—”

  “I just want your opinion,” Angela interrupted him.
“We’re all adults. Say what you mean to say.”

  Ed managed a small smile under his white mustache. “Yes, ma’am. Of course. My opinion is…uh…” he shuffled about in his seat. His eyes crinkled up, peering at Angela. “Are we putting the cart before the horse a bit here?”

  Angela raised her hands. “I don’t know. What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we don’t even know how hard it’s gonna be to retake Fort Bragg. Things seem to be changing real quick around here. It seems to me like sending the Marines off before you know the situation right here at home…well, that seems a little…maybe a little rash.”

  I need a bigger council, Angela thought, looking at Ed’s old eyes. One guy says one thing, another says the opposite, and the tie breaker doesn’t want to take sides.

  But more people would only lead to more opinions. And more opinions weren’t going to clarify the right course of action. They’d only muddy the waters. Angela was dreaming a dream if she thought that a meeting like this would ever reach any sort of consensus.

  Ultimately, the decision was up to her.

  She had to keep reminding herself of that.

  Time to put on your big-girl pants and make a decision.

  “Brinly,” Angela said, turning to him. “Do you have an officer that you trust?”

  “Captain Trenton,” Brinly answered without hesitation.

  Angela nodded. “I want you to assign to him control of half of your Marine forces. He’s going to assist in the route clearance operations to Fort Bragg, and with the efforts to retake it. He can coordinate with Master Sergeant Gilliard, and First Sergeant Hamrick.”

  Brinly nodded, but with a crease in his brow.

  Angela answered the obvious question that Brinly was thinking about. “I want you to take the other half. Hand pick them. Use whatever resources you think you need. I want you to go west, no stops, straight to the last known position of Lee and his team. I think that would be in mid-Texas somewhere. I want you to maintain constant contact with me while you do. I want to know what the hell is going on over there. I want to know if it’s practical for us to get involved, and what that entails. Priority number one will be reconnaissance. Priority number two will be getting fuel back to us.” She raised her eyebrows at the Marine. “Questions? Concerns? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Brinly bobbed his graying head. “One major concern: I’m not sure how wise it is to split the Marine forces. Better to have one effective fighting force than two forces at half strength.”

  Angela always found herself hesitating in moments like this. Commander-in-chief was one of her supposed titles, and yet she always felt woefully underprepared to make military decisions like this. She tended to defer to the military men, as she didn’t want to be “that civilian” that made terrible decisions against the advice of the people who knew better.

  And yet, she’d deferred and deferred and deferred for her entire time as president.

  And look where that had gotten her.

  It was time to change tactics.

  “Your primary objective isn’t as a fighting force, major,” Angela replied. “It’s reconnaissance.”

  Brinly considered this. “And the half of my forces that will be on route clearance? And retaking Fort Bragg?”

  “They’ll be working alongside Hamrick’s Hunter-Killer squads.”

  A long few seconds of silence fell on the room.

  “When would you like us to leave?” Brinly asked, resigning himself to his new mission.

  “How soon can you?”

  “Give me a day to make arrangements with Captain Trenton and the boys I’ll be heading west with.”

  Angela nodded. “Would today be enough of a day?”

  Brinly nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then tomorrow,” Angela said.

  She eyed the three men across from her. She found it a good sign that both Ed and Carl appeared mollified. Only Brinly seemed to have reservations. And that, she thought, was about as close to consensus as she’d ever get.

  She hoped she’d made the right decision.

  And God help her if she turned out to be “that civilian.”

  FOURTEEN

  ─▬▬▬─

  AUGUSTA

  Fifteen men stood in a tight circle.

  Inside that circle was Sergeant Billings, and an impromptu sand table.

  They were at Checkpoint Scarecrow, located in a small, gated industrial building, south of Augusta. It wasn’t completely secure, but it was more secure.

  Kind of like a relatively Safe Zone.

  A collection of Humvees, pickup technicals, and MATVs created an outer perimeter around the men, like circled wagons. Just in case. Their gunners had their various mounted weaponry pointed outward, scanning for anything that looked like it might want to take a bite out of them.

  Sam hung over Jones’s shoulder, peering down at Billings as he drew in the dirt with a stick.

  One big circle.

  “This is I-Five-Twenty,” Billings said. Then he drew another line that intersected it. “This is Highway One, our main route onto the loop.” A squiggle in the dirt, not far from the intersection that he’d just drawn. “This is the barricade where we lost Squad Seven, and Squad Three, the day before. The primals have hit this area twice. I can’t speak to what happened with Squad Three, but we were there when they took out Loudermouth, and they went north, straight into this area here.” He tapped a general area of dirt inside the main loop, then looked up at the gathered soldiers. “We do not have a positive ID on wherever they’re shacking up, but we know these things keep a wide hunting territory. It could be anywhere within Augusta. But we’re going to start here and see what we get. They like houses and small cozy buildings, so I think this neighborhood area right here is the most likely candidate. That’s what we’re going to come in on.”

  Billings leaned back, squatted on his haunches. “I’d like to get in and out before dark. I’m gonna call that six hours.” He met the various gazes of the team leaders huddled around him. “We’re going to come in via Highway One, up to this road here—Richmond Hill. Squad One, you’ll position here, at the intersection of Highway One and Lumpkin.”

  Someone guffawed and mumbled, “Lumpkins. That’s a good name for Squad One.”

  Billings ignored the chuckles and continued: “Squad Two, you’re going to be right up the road at Highway One and Wheeless Road. Squad Six, you’re at Highway One and Richmond Hill. Squads Ten and Twelve, you’re with us, spreading out along Richmond Hill. My squad will go deep, all the way down Richmond Hill to Overlook Road, which will get us access to the neighborhood.”

  One of the squad leaders shuffled his feet and frowned. “You making us all containment so your squad gets all the CKs?”

  Billings smirked up at the man. “Relax. We estimated about a hundred primals. If they’re in this area, we’re all gonna get some CKs. There’s enough to go around, so let’s not get stupid about it, hua?”

  A smattering of “hua” trickled back.

  Billings scanned the gathering until he found the face he was looking for. “Scots, you and your Highlanders are gonna be parked right in front of an apartment complex. You know these things love an apartment complex, so keep an eye on it. While the rest of us get in position, you’ll need to take a lap through the complex and see if you don’t find any activity.”

  Scots, a tall, skeletal redhead nodded.

  “Once everyone is in position and the Highlanders have cleared that complex, we’re gonna start rolling into this neighborhood on our individual streets. If you ID any activity, call out the location and we’ll begin to move to you. Squad leaders, there’s gonna be a lot of moving parts and street names coming over the radio, so pay attention and keep your maps handy and try to avoid catching each other in crossfire.”

  Billings stood up, his knees cracking. He stretched his back. “This will be our rally point if shit goes sideways.”

  “You mean
‘when,’” Scots said, with a smirk.

  Billings nodded. “Right. I don’t want anyone to take unnecessary risks, but let’s remember that if we can clear these things out, we’ll have a path to Columbia, South Cackalacky, and then the next stop is back home. Y’all ready?”

  Everyone was.

  Twenty minutes later, Sam was back in his seat behind Chris.

  Their Humvee was at the lead of the column, heading down Highway One. They’d already passed over the I-520 loop, and now approached their target street.

  Sam stayed in his open window. The warm air flowed past him. He could faintly smell the exhaust from their own vehicle, but mostly it smelled like spring. All around them, the determined Georgia vegetation took back the city. Large stands of wisteria had bloomed purple across areas that had once been manicured. Sam smelled them strongest of all, and if he closed his eyes, it might’ve seemed pleasant.

  But he wasn’t going to close his eyes.

  Others might have found the blooming flowers and trees beautiful. Sam only saw ruin.

  He saw shadows. He saw hiding places. He saw danger points.

  Nothing beautiful there.

  “Right up here,” Billings said, pointing out his window.

  Chris slowed their truck and took the turn onto Richmond Hill.

  In the center of the truck, the ball bearings on the turret rumbled as Pickell scanned around and around, looking for anything that seemed like it could use a large caliber projectile to the face.

  So far, everything was still and quiet.

  Houses. Buildings. Businesses. All slumped in their various stages of dilapidation.

  The squads began to sound off as they took their intersections, building a perimeter around the target neighborhood.

  “Alphas, in position.”

  “Wardogs, at One and Wheeless.”